Eureka weekly sentinel. [volume] (Eureka, Nev.) 1887-1902, 1887-12-24
BACK TO THE OLD PLACE.
The Old Man Who Heard q AOug
In the Night and Thought Of
MniIar

in the Night and Thought o
| Mother.
In the quiet waiting room OF tn,
Grand Trunk depot, in Lew iston, sat
gray whiskered old fellow in a broad
brimmed hat. He had been stuiyin,
a timetable with some perplex
ity and had just laid it aside. A ques
tion from him, relative to the startin,
OF the trains for Oxford county, was in
PRODUCTION enough. His voice wa,
hoarse, but not unpleasant. His in
Election was odd. Being Dowl
Easter, it was safe for the writer t.
guess that the stranger was from thu
West.
From the West?"
You bet," was the reply.
"Going to Oxford county?"
That's where I'm going"
Conversation was desultory until tht
Westerner opened up.
Said he: Its thirty-two year since
see the hills Of Maine. 1 was RAISED
up in old Oxford county. l reckon
amt thought O these hills since l was
boy in copper-toed boots with gooc
old daddy-too good, God bless him
for nary such youngster as we're
left home when l were Is and went
out west, then came back and went
to sea. l coasted eight years, and in
'55 went on a deep sea voyage and
brought up in California. I've beer
there ever since. Have come back
now"
"Alone ?"
"Alone?' Yea, alone! That's the
bother of it, my boy. Nary a darned
soul there nor here, as I knows of
that cares whether l get here or not
lonesome old man. Don't you do it.
Take my word for it, it's awful. Fol
thirty-five year nothing to think of but
work and dig and dive. No wife
Never had none. No friends, except
boys in the diggin's when 1 first went
there. and in town, where I've been
runnin' a little business of my own fol
the past eight years. Nothing ahead
of me for the past twenty year but
gettin' rich. No letters from anybody
as knows of. Nothing in my dreams
but money. Nothing else in the Wis.
ions of the mountain peaks, nothing
else in the changin' surface Of the Pa
cific whenever / caught glimpse ol
it. I've been a sordid, mean, low.
lived skinflint part O. the time, and q
roisterin' hell-of-a-poor fellow the rest
OF it. Lookin' back, it makes lump
in my throat, boy, it do, and l agree
that wasted life is the awfullest thing
beneath the canopy of blue. 1t makes
me sick. l don't like to think of it
like to talk, ye see, to keep away
from thinking OF it,"
Going back to the old place ?"
60 The old place? Eli! Yes, the ole
place. Leastwise that's what reckon
on. What do you suppose made me
Haden't thought of home for forty
five years. Hadn't been to church
any to speak of. 1t were only Just 9
song as did it. A little, old-fashionee
song that heard in the evening three
months ago, bout a mother thai
wanted to know where her wanderin
boy was. 1t came up out O. the nigh
way Oil ViiCAC UCyOllu tilO luouutliile
and thought Of my old mother, Goo
bless her, and of the old place.
couldn't sleep worth cent that night
turned and twisted and sweat great
drops. l kept thinkin' about home
and all I'd ever read or heard about
it. Seemed as though l could see the
old lady's face looking into mine, with
eyes full of love, as good as she did
when l were kid. thought it ovel
for day or two. Life didn't look hall
so rosy out there. Fact is, l wanted tc
go home, just home and nowhere else
and you bet started when made W
my mind. Think I only kind O. want
to see the grave of my mother anG
fix up the family lot, you know, and
do you know, my boy, been sort o
holdin on to have good cry (some
thing amt known for thirty Year,
and when Pm done with that and
when I've SHE'D around and seen all
want to OF the old place, Pm goin' to
Boston and see brother Of mine and
60 back again beyond the Rockies anC
die there with my face towards the
East. I could afford to do it, and
amt the sort to be ashamed of it. LIE
me tell you one thing, though, all O
life and all its gold amt worth the
loss of your mothers love. Put that
down to keep. For if you was mt
you would be able to prove it, ane
wouldn't run any risk of being luret
away from it by any OF the othel
things of earth. It's the best thing
the Lord gives us, and the last thing
I'm thinkin', He ought to take away
Lewiston, Me-, Journal.